Get an Emissary, They Said It'll Help the Pack, They Said
by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
Summary: A collection of One-Shots of emissary!Stiles as an elemental Spark. Each chapter can be a stand alone and focuses on a specific element. Fluff, comfort, angst, bromance, and more! Chapter 3: WATER
1. EARTH

**This is a story inspired by a Tumblr Post from Cuppa-Char and our mutual love of emissary!Stiles. I thought that instead of writing a new, crazy novel-length story, I could do a little collection of elemental emissary!Stiles. Just a collection of one-shots of him using his powers for specific purposes. All can be read individually as one-shots.**

Get an Emissary, They Said. It'll Help the Pack, They Said.

_By Chase-the-Wind-and-Touch-the-Sky_

_EARTH_.

He didn't talk about it often.

Deaton gave the entire pack a lecture about how having an emissary would be nothing but beneficial for everyone and because he'd shown a talent for it in the past, Stiles was the one who took on the challenge. The two met several times a week, but neither spoke much about it. And Beacon Hills got quiet enough to where they didn't need to see anything.

Every time Scott tried to bring it up, Stiles hastily changed the subject. Modesty was a weird look on Stiles.

So when a pack from Oregon comes to California and challenges Scott, he isn't sure what the outcome will be, but he knows that Stiles isn't standing in the front as usual.

The Alpha looks like a complete hipster. Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes when the guys approaches, clad in flannel, a beanie, and a hemp bracelet wrapped around his wrist. His eyes scour the pack and he looks unimpressed, which quite frankly, is a little offensive. "Do you have a problem?" Scott asks, telling himself that laughing at the hipster Alpha from Oregon would make things five million times worse.

Hipster Alpha snorts. "Considering your reputation, I thought your pack would be more… well, just _more_. You're a bunch of teenagers."

"So?" Lydia snaps, crossing her arms in a way that always takes someone down a peg. At least Hipster Alpha has the sensibility to look a little taken aback by Lydia.

"People said I was crazy to come down here, but now I realize it must all be you guys starting the rumors. A pack that beat an Alpha pack. The Deadpool. Even a Nogitsune."

There's a derisive snort from the back and Scott shuts his eyes. Stiles really could only keep his mouth shut for so long. "This coming from the guy in hipster glasses and a beanie?" Stiles says from the back. "Are you here to try and take over the area or are you here to tell us about the benefits of recycling?"

"Your token human has a big mouth," Hipster Alpha says.

"The token human has a name." Stiles snaps, emerging from the back of the pack and Scott wants to yell at him to stay back, but he knows a power play in his own pack in front of a challenging pack would be a bad idea. Stiles steps up to Scott's right side, crossing his arms. "I've been calling you Hipster Douchebag in my head, myself." He finishes with a smirk.

Hipster Alpha's eyes narrow. "Control your human," he states.

Scott interjects before Stiles can, "You know, why don't we just get to the point as to what you guys are doing here. If it's a territory thing, we're not ceding our territory. Beacon Hills is ours. If it's a conflict, maybe we can work something out. Otherwise, enjoy your stay and please get out quickly."

Hipster Alpha's eyes flash red and he shows no indication that he's leaving anytime soon. "I think you need to reevaluate your tone, boy. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to raise your voice to your elders?"

"Yeah, that's not going to help anything," Stiles drawls. "Reminding us that you're _old_."

The Hipster Alpha raises his claws, so Scott takes a moment to step in front of the two. "I don't know what you wanted to achieve when coming here, but the territory isn't available. I suggest you simply go back to Portland if you're so concerned over it."

"Yeah, go hit the wheat grass juicer or whatever," Stiles says with a flick of the wrist.

Except as soon as he does so, the Alpha's eyes glow red once more and Scott frowns when all the people behind him follow suit with a maze of blue eyes. Scott didn't care for the implication of it, nor the intimidation tactics used. "I'm going to ask you one last time to leave," Scott says firmly. "We don't have to do anything that could get anyone hurt."

Hipster Alpha lets out a bellowing laugh, causing those with the blue eyes to follow suit. "I have no idea how you all are still alive, let alone in charge of this territory."

"Not all of us are," Scott says softly, his eyes falling to the ground.

That's when he feels it next to him. Stiles' Spark expanding, as it usually did when he was preparing for battle. It'd been a while since it happened because he was upset at something. A year ago – when he was still getting used to his emissary powers – he would lose control a lot. But Deaton recommended yoga to balance himself out and oddly enough, Stiles and Derek now have a standing yoga date Tuesdays and Thursdays at six. (Derek grumbles, but Scott knows for a fact that he looks forward to them. One time, Stiles had to cancel to study for a test and the man moped for an entire day.)

"Stiles," Scott warns, putting a hand on his best friend in efforts to calm him down.

The opposing pack laughs. "Let him go. Let's see how the precious human fares over a wolf pack. It will teach him not to speak when he's not spoken to like a good little human."

Any calming effect Scott's touch had on Stiles is gone now and Scott knows it. Stiles stiffens at his side and Scott feels a rush of electricity next to him. It's all about the bonds of the pack – he could never truly feel what it was like to be Stiles, but he could feel whispers it in his bones. "Stiles, no." Scott says, his eyes widening.

"Yes, Stiles, listen to your Alpha."

Scott growls. "Trust me, this isn't for his benefit, it's for yours."

But it doesn't matter because all hell breaks loose. Before Stiles even can do anything, one of the beta's behind Hipster Alpha lunges at him, throwing Stiles to the ground. Without thinking, Scott's eyes flash red and he sprints after the beta, unable to control himself. Stiles cries out as he's thrown against a tree, tumbling to the ground. The beta runs with his claws poised, but Scott is able to reach the two in time to throw him to the ground.

Apparently that's all that was needed to make a tumultuous meeting teeter into disarray. The other betas sprint forward, crashing into Scott's beta's with enough cracks to make him flinch. But he's not terribly concerned because he hears Malia laugh at their lack of prowess and sees Kira's blade swipe across the field. Even Derek snorts at their technique. After Deadpools and Nogitsunes, simple packs just seem annoying.

Stiles leaps to his feet, blood trickling down his face. "You okay?" Scott asks.

But when Stiles looks at him, his eyes are burning white and Scott knows that they'll have to make sure he doesn't have a concussion later. "Be careful," Scott whispers, but he's never sure if Stiles can actually hear him at this point.

Stiles rolls his sleeves, revealing a twisting willow tree, the branches coming to life. The leaves and flowers start flowing down his arm, coming alive. Scott never really got used to this part, so he returns his attention to his pack. The blue-eyed betas are tumbling to the ground as the Hipster Alpha gets more and more upset.

Stiles walks in front of him, his eyes glowing white. The wind picks up and Stiles brings his hands over his head. The trees start to tremble and all of Scott's pack takes a few precautionary steps back (once, Stiles accidentally clipped Kira when she got in the way and he felt so awful, he proceeded to be her slave for a week, even though she didn't want it).

Vines sweep across the ground and wrap around the ankles of the fallen betas. They're hoisted into the air, dangling from the branches of the trees like weird Christmas ornaments. He doesn't say anything - it's the one weird thing about Stiles using his emissary powers is that he has to concentrate entirely on what he's doing, otherwise he can't keep it up.

Scott approaches Hipster Alpha, calmly saying, "If we release you, please leave and never come back. That's our deal. Take you betas and go."

Hipster Alpha's jaw is clenched. Scott can see his mind racing, but he's not sure why. He's clearly defeated.

"Alright," Hipster Alpha says, but Scott can't put his finger on why he doesn't believe him. His heartbeat is steady, but Scott doesn't trust his eyes.

Hipster Alpha moves to leave, but at the last second, he turns. Running straight at Stiles, Hipster Alpha bares his teeth. Scott can't get to him in time. He knows that they'll still win, but can't move quick enough to save Stiles.

Then, all the betas fall from trees.

Hipster Alpha and Stiles collide.

_"__Stiles!"_

Lydia screams.

_"__No!"_ Scott bellows after Lydia screams. He sprints over to the two, gesturing to the fallen betas. "Make sure they don't attack again!"

By the time he gets to Stiles, the pool of blood is large. Scott rips the Hipster Alpha off of Stiles, but finds that it's difficult. Then he steps back and understands why.

A branch impales the Hipster Alpha, his blood seeping onto Stiles' shirt. Stiles lies underneath him, panting, a few scratches up his forearm and blood on his face, but other than that, he looks fine. Scott pulls him to his feet, hands running down his sides to make sure he's fine.

Stiles eyes flicker back to normal, his gaze glassy as it usually gets when he overextends himself. His look travels to the Alpha's corpse and heaves a heavy sigh. He casts Scott a look that says something along the lines of 'I hate that this happens' and then proceeds to pass out.

**XXX**

Derek had it on direct order from Scott to try and find Stiles. Scott was certain that he went to his mother's grave – which he did from time to time when their fights went bittersweet – but Derek had another idea.

So when he pushed back the branches of the thick forest and saw Stiles sitting on the ground where the grass was once stained with blood, he's not surprised. It's a relatively sunny day in Beacon Hills, except for the sky above where Stiles sits, his fingers playing in the grass.

Derek steps on a grass and a twig snaps, but Stiles doesn't turn around. "Not surprised," Stiles mutters.

Derek approaches the teen, sitting next to him. Stiles waves his hand over the grass and a few flowers sprout where he's done so, soon the entire space around them covered in daisies. "Pretty," Derek says quietly, running his fingers across some of the petals.

"I like to make nice things sometimes," Stiles says, his voice hoarse and rough as though he'd been crying. It occurs to him that he probably had. "Remind me that I can do that too."

Derek looks at the field of flowers. "He would've killed you, Stiles." Derek says softly. "He tried to. When Lydia screamed, everyone thought it was for you."

"Yeah, well." Stiles mutters noncommittally, running his fingers across some of the petals. Color bleeds into their plumage. "Still doesn't make it any easier. I always wanted to be able to take care of myself, but now that I can…" he sighs. "It just makes me tired."

"I get that." Derek says. "There a lot of responsibility that comes with being a pack emissary. Because it's not just your life you have to protect."

"Pack first." Stiles states.

"Pack first." Derek agrees, nodding. "That's a responsibility you've taken. You do the tough actions so Scott doesn't have to. That's not evil, that's brave."

Stiles finally looks at him, his eyes filled with tears, but not dropping. "It doesn't feel like it."

Derek nods. "It never does."

He rests his hand on top of Stiles. Nothing romantic, but a gesture of comfort. Flesh on flesh, tactile comfort that only wolves could desire.

Or those who run with them.

**A/N: This is really fun! I think I'm just going to do a collection of one-shots of elemental emissary!Stiles. Each chapter being a different highlighted element. Maybe if I write about it enough, it'll happen on the show! If you have an elemental idea, let me know! Review and/or on my tumblr!**

**Please leave a note if you have a moment! Much love!**


	2. FIRE

**I'm glad you guys like this idea! I think it's super fun and it's nice to have the pressure of a novel-length fic off.**

**Per Cuppa's request, I'm going to move onto FIRE. Most people know how much I love BrOTP Sterek.**

_FIRE_.

When he gets the call, it's two in the morning.

Without even looking up from his pillow, Stiles reaches out to grab the phone on his dresser. He answers with a resounding, "Whoever this is, I hate you so much right now." The words come out garbled and barely understandable.

There's a hesitation and it's enough for Stiles to bolt upright in bed, willing the sleepiness to fall away. "Stiles… fire…"

As soon as the first strangled word is out, Stiles already flops (well, _falls_, but no one needs to know that) out of bed in search for his shoes. He reaches in the dark, smacking his head against his desk, his arm reaching under his chair. "Who is it? What is it? Who is this?"

"Stiles, it's Kira," Kira's light voice rarely darkens, but when it does, he knows it's serious. "They didn't want me to call you, but you can handle fire and—"

"Who didn't want to call me?" Stiles exclaims, a little more outraged than is probably necessary. "Because I'm gonna – no, not important right now. I'll yell at them later. Where are you?"

"The forest. Scott says he can hear yelling – it's camping season, Stiles. He says he can hear _kids_."

That's all he needs. He knows where the camping grounds are and he's sure the _fire_ can lead him in the right direction. He's going to kill Scott.

Because it has to be him. Stiles doesn't like to talk about his emissary training – he hides the fact that he had to be sedated for _hours_ to simply get the tattoos that went along with it – mainly because he's sure it makes people uncomfortable. It weirds him out a little bit and he's doing it. He can't imagine what goes on through other people's heads. So he keeps it to himself unless absolutely necessary.

But he needs to have a conversation with Scott. If he thinks that claws are going to be able to fight the fire, he's seriously deranged. He bolts out of the house with his shoes untied (he can tie them as he drives – he's done it before), jumping into Roscoe and peeling out in the driveway.

The fog on his car is difficult to see past, but he swipes at one of his tattoos, causing it to dissipate. His chest tightens a bit and he lets out a heavy breath. He chastises himself for making himself tired before he gets to the fire, but he tells himself he needs to make it to the fire alive to help.

Finding it isn't challenging. The smoke billows over the trees and Stiles pulls his Jeep at a trailhead, a small amount of fear clutching his chest. He's grateful he's alone because in these moments, he's allowed to be scared. He tells himself whenever he's around wolves and kitsunes, he has to be ready for anything. He can't show them he's scared, because then there's one more reason he shouldn't go with them. But he sucks in a breath, ignores the fact that his flesh won't heal from burns like those he runs with, steels himself, and sprints into the forest.

He can hear sirens in the distance. Kira wouldn't have called him unless it was absolutely necessary (he can't see her standing up to Scott ever, so he'll have to buy her coffee as a thank you tomorrow), so he knows the kids don't have a lot of time. He pushes his body faster, the sound of crackling branches making him flinch.

The heat makes itself known and every logical part of him tells him that he should turn around. But he sprints until the heat is suffocating and he can see the flames blanketing the trees. A few people stand before it and he knows Scott's probably trying to come up with a plan. Seriously, they should've just called him. Damn pack would be lost without him.

He sprints toward where they all are and someone groans. Surprisingly, it's not Scott. Scott, on the other hand, looks a little shocked, but more relieved. "What is _he_ doing here?" Derek snaps, his eyes flashing and a little more wild than Stiles likes. "I specifically said that he should _not_ be called!"

"_You_ are the one who didn't want me here?" Stiles shouts. "I thought it was Scott!"

Scott frowns. "I would always want you with me."

Stiles smiles. "Aw, thanks man."

"Can you guys do that later?" Malia asks, staring at them like they were insane. "Because in case you've forgotten, there's a fire."

Stiles snorts. "Okay, here's what I'm thinking—"

"No, you shouldn't be here." Derek snaps, putting his arm up to block Stiles' chest, like he's about to sprint into the forest. "It's too dangerous."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Because going into the fire for you guys is like a walk in the park, I forgot." He says, pushing Derek's arm aside. "Because you are imperious to _fire._"

And then he stops.

There's more to his potential rant – there's _always _more – but once he says the word 'fire' directed at Derek, it occurs to him. Stiles shuts his eyes.

It won't stop him from participating. No, of course not. But he wishes he had a better brain-to-mouth filter.

"It'll be fine, Derek." Stiles says softly.

"Again, seriously, there's a fire." Malia states, waving her arms at the trees ablaze. "You can ask each other out later."

Stiles tries to throw Malia a look that says something like 'this is serious and now employ the human tact we always talk about,' but he knows it would be lost on anyone, especially Malia.

"Humans died in the fire too, Stiles." Derek mutters. "They all did."

Stiles feels his resolve slipping, but he has to steel himself against it. Kids could _die_ too. Taking a deep breath, he assures, "It'll be fine because we're all together. And I'll be more of an emissary support anyways. The fire doesn't seem to be too terrible. I can smother it a bit while you guys go in. I'll hang back here." Derek visibly relaxes at that. "And I'll do my best to keep the fire as small as possible."

Scott nods. "Alright, sounds good to me. We gotta get out of there quick before the Fire Department comes, so we don't draw any attention. We'll meet back here. Okay?"

Everyone nods, stepping back to let Stiles approach the fire. He does so, only stopping to put his hand on Derek and whisper, "It'll be okay. Be sure to be safe."

Rolling up his sleeves, Stiles takes a deep breath. He brings his hands up and opens his eyes. He feels the electricity running through his veins and he thinks of the tattoos on his shoulders. He knows they're probably glowing, but he can't worry about what the people behind him anymore.

The fire feels like it's licking his palms. It hurts a bit, but he tells himself that it'll be over soon.

"Come on, let's move quickly." He hears Scott say behind him and a flurry of movement rushes past him.

He feels a hand press against his tattoos and thinks someone may murmur something to him. But he's too far gone to know who it is.

As soon as he's alone, he feels the pressure of the fire. It's sweltering and it makes him feel a little weak at the knees, but he presses on. The smoke seems to fill his lungs and the fire feels like it's touching his skin, but he tells himself it's just the Spark. The Spark tends to drain him, but if he lets go, the fire would come back with a vengeance to everyone inside.

But he feels people run past him and he thinks he's hearing crying. His hands are shaking and he knows he can't hold it up much longer. He feels the Spark slipping from his grasp. He tumbles to his knees, darkness circling the corners of his eyes. He feels someone pull him up and the Spark finally slips away.

"Dude, _dude,_ you okay?" A far away voice asks.

Stiles blinks a few times and Scott comes into focus, his face covered in soot and worry. "Everyone get out?" He asks, wincing when he realizes his words come out a little slurred.

Scott helps him to his feet and gives him a once over. But he doesn't answer the question. Actually, he's avoiding his eyes. "Scott, who's still in there?"

"I'm going after him now, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh God, it's Derek, isn't it?" Stiles groans, pushing Scott off of him and looking at the fire. The flames are higher, brighter, and more menacing than he remembers them ever being. "Shit, Scott, look at the fire, it's even worse than before I started. You'll never make it out!"

Scott looks at the kids behind him, their eyes terrified and filled with tears. "Stiles, they have a sister. That's probably where Derek is. I can't just leave him!"

"Well, obviously!" Stiles growls. "_I'm_ going in after him!"

Scott's eyes widen and he runs in front of him, pressing a hand to his chest. "Dude, _no_." Scott says. "First of all, you're the human one here. Second of all, Derek would _kill_ me."

"Scott, even you can't survive that." Stiles says, gesturing at the fire. "But I _can_. I can suppress it and get Derek and the girl out of there."

"You almost passed out just now!" Scott cries. "You can't do that!"

"I nearly passed out because I was smothering the whole thing to keep you safe. I can keep myself safe." Stiles says. "You're the Alpha, you have to protect everyone here. I swear, I wouldn't do this unless I knew I could come back."

"Yes you would!"

"Well, yes I would," Stiles groans. "But you know in this one case – if it comes down to me and you, I'm the one who has a better chance of making it out!"

Scott stares at him, his eyes flashing red and then going back to normal. "God!" He shouts, his yell resonating in the woods. "You get ten minutes and then I'm coming after you."

"Fair enough." Stiles says, clapping a hand on Scott's shoulder.

He sprints into the flames, pulling the Spark out in him. It feels like he's scraping his insides bare, but he can't feel the fire, so he thinks it's a success. He tells himself he just has to find Derek and leave and it's the only thing that's keeping him going.

He takes a chance and shouts, "Derek!"

He feels his Spark waver, but it holds. The heat on his back increases, but he pushes forward. One more time, he tries, "Derek!"

"Stiles?"

Stiles could cry with relief.

He looks around and sees a crumpled form in surrounded by flames. Stiles runs over to him, wraps his hands around his shoulders, flinching back when he sees a tuft of black hair underneath his forearms. He hides his eyes.

"Stiles, what are you doing here?" Derek shouts. His words are mangled and Stiles knows it's through fangs. "Why would you do this?"

"I'm not leaving you here to die, are you kidding?" Stiles cries.

He places his palms on Derek's shoulders, closing his eyes. With every piece of his Spark still alit, he expands it outward so it encompasses Derek and the child. He isn't sure what they're supposed to do now. His legs tingle and he's positive he can't stand up, let alone walk out of there.

So they stay like that for a while, waiting for Stiles' legs to stop tingling.

They don't stop, but it gets manageable. "Okay," Stiles breathes heavily. "I think I can move us out now. Derek, can you grab her?"

"Stiles," the word is rough and in pain. "it's okay."

"It's _not_ okay," Stiles says through gritted teeth, trying to get to his feet. He can feel the fire against his back. He knows they need to get out. And now. "We are not dying in a freaking fire. _You _are not dying in a freaking fire. We're getting out."

Derek holds the child close. "It's my fault. I-I froze."

"That's not your fault," Stiles says, wincing at the fire. "It's 100% understandable and you and I are going to discuss this at a later date."

Derek's eyes widen. "Oh, right."

Stiles pushes him forward. "Just, let me put my hands on your shoulders. Don't move fast enough for me to let go, otherwise my cover will break."

"Okay."

"I got you."

Derek stills. "Okay."

So the two make their way through the fire step by step. Stiles feels himself slipping unconscious, but every once and a while, he catches sight of the small child passed out in Derek's arms, and wills himself a little further.

Shouts come from ahead, but Stiles can't really see any further. His hands are slipping from Derek's shoulders as he steps closer. He can feel the fire on him, but he tells himself it isn't there. But it is. There's smoke. There's pain.

There are flames.

"Oh my God, you did it," Stiles hears Derek say, but it sounds so distant. "You got us out."

Thank God. Stiles can let go.

But he can't feel his hands. He thinks they fall from Derek's shoulders but he can't be sure.

People are shouting. It's really, really loud and he doesn't know how to make it stop.

It feels like the fire's still on him.

He falls to the ground – or someone pushes him to the ground – and then something covers him. It feels like when he was little and his mother tucked him in.

If he's tucked in, he may as well go to sleep then.

**XXX**

By the time the Sheriff gets there, it seems like the whole pack is in disarray. Scott's huddled over a crumpled form. The Sheriff knows. He knows before he goes over there that it's going to be his son.

Sprinting over, he goes to see Scott clutching his son's hand, black veins snaking up his arm. "What happened?" The Sheriff asks, panic hitting him.

"He's an _idiot!_" Derek screams from a few feet away, his body singed and tense.

Scott doesn't look up. "Derek's having a hard time." He mutters, wincing as he draws more pain. "He has a thing with fire."

"I do _not _have a thing with—" he cuts off before he says the words. "I have a thing with Stiles being a reckless moron!"

The Sheriff feels like getting his gun out and shooting into the air, but he instead decides to shout, "What is going on?"

"He overextended himself and his back caught on fire briefly. My mom is getting some burn cream, but she says he'll be fine. He's unconscious from using too much of his Spark."

The Sheriff frowns. "So he's okay? Like, everything alright?"

"Obviously, he's not okay!" Derek bellows. "He has burns on his back from being a complete – ugh!" He exhales and then walks a bit away.

Scott sighs. "He's fine. Deaton says he's dumb for pushing himself this far and he'll have to change his bandages for a while, but it should be fine. It was more scary than everything."

"Okay," the Sheriff says. "I hate this, but I have to go talk with the parents of the kids in the forest. Are you _sure_ Stiles is alright."

Scott nods. "He's been checked by Deaton and my mom. He isn't even in that much pain, I just want to feel useful."

The Sheriff smiles. "You're such a great kid, Scott. I recommend you go talk to Derek before he punches a tree down."

Scott laughs, taking his hand off of Stiles. "You're right. Thanks."

"No problem!" The Sheriff yells as he walks off.

Scott gets to his feet, motioning to Kira to stay with Stiles. He marches to where Derek is, his arms crossed and his jaw tight. "Derek," Scott says, standing next to him.

"Don't."

"Derek," Scott starts again. "It's okay."

"I know."

"Derek," Scott says firmly. "It's okay."

"Please stop."

Scott places a hand on his forearm. "You never should've been put in this position. You never should've had to face fire again. He was just protecting you."

"I said _stop_, Scott."

"He would do it again. He would run into fire for you. We all would."

"Scott."

"Derek, it's okay. We're all safe."

He doesn't respond this time.

"We're all safe. We made it out of the fire. We're all safe. It's okay."

Derek bows his head, his gaze peeking at the streams of water extinguishing the flames.

"It's okay."

**A/N: I love doing these! This one kinda got away from me. I didn't expect it to be so angsty.**

******If you have any ideas for future one-shots, let me know!**

**Please leave a review if you have the time! Much love!**


	3. WATER

**Hey! I hope you are all having a wonderful holiday season! Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, Winter Solstice – whatever your beliefs may be!**

**I've received a few questions that I think are important to answer. One of the most frequent questions I get asked is thus: WHAT DO YOU SHIP – STEREK OR STYDIA.**

**Now, I'm not a fan of Stalia, so I never even really have hints of that (nothing against Stalia shippers, but I just don't see the chemistry, personally, and don't like the circumstance of how they got together). As for Sterek vs. Stydia: Personally, I'm not a big shipper. I ****_lean_****toward Stydia because I love the growth/arc that the two characters have.**

**I'd like to think I have secondary shipping of Sterek – in a bromance way. I don't romantically ship them, but I think they understand each other in a way that no one else on the show can because they've lived through similar experiences. Sterek fanfic writers (while I don't ship the two personally) are some of the BEST writers in the fandom, in my opinion. I love reading Sterek stories because often, they're really great quality.**

**As for this fic? I'd say there's no romantic slant, just a LOT of friendship. Why? 1) Romance is my weakest thing to write. I'm not a fan of writing it and I'm not very good at it. 2) I wanted it to be all about pack bonds and relationships, which is what I'm a fan of. But I LOVE ME SOME Sterek friendship. I really wish they'd interact more on the show.**

**Okay, starting another prompt, except this time: WATER! The suggested prompt was – using Dylan's aversion to water (and Stiles' implied fear due to his talk with Morell), a situation he has to use his powers, but no one can get to him. He panics and somehow expels the water from the area.**

_WATER_.

It's not a secret that Stiles has a thing about water.

Scott's known since he was seven when Jackson pushed him into a lake and his best friend almost drowned. Because of all their family's medical problems, swimming lessons seemed low on the list of priorities and that error made itself known with a vengeance. Jackson – who'd had lessons since he was four and assumed everyone had some level of swimming proficiency – brought Stiles out in the middle of the lake on a raft, dumped him in, and then swam to shore.

It took him until he reached ground that Stiles never resurfaced.

By the time they reached him, his lips were blue, it took three resounding rounds of CPR to get the water out of his lungs, and Jackson officially was grounded for the rest of the summer. The two's friendship never recovered such a damaging blow to Jackson's ego.

That same day, Mr. Stilinski signed Stiles up for swimming lessons. It took two lessons to get him in the water. Two _rounds_ of lessons to get him to a basic swimming standard.

Stiles never really spoke about what happened the day he almost died. But he remained coolly against water and swimming activities for as long as Scott can remember. The only explanation he ever received was that swimming and water makes him think of "darkness and cold." Well, "and _Jackson_, which make me want to throw up all over again."

It makes him feel even worse about the whole 'Kanima in the Pool' debacle.

So when they're standing at the edge of a lake with some sort of fae-sprite-beast-whatever (Stiles exclaims, "_Fuck you Disney and your false advertising. FUCK. YOU."_) that has a little girl wrapped in his claws hovering over the middle of the lake. Malia runs forward – Scott's going to have to have yet _another_ talk with her about jumping into action too quickly – but stops when the claw curl tighter around the kids throat.

"God, stop Malia!" Stiles cries out, pulling her backwards. "There's a kid involved!"

Malia's eyes flash blue. "I thought the point was to kill that _thing_!"

"The point is to keep everyone alive!" Scott says, grabbing them both. "I just don't know…" he looks wildly at everyone, desperation seeping into his tone. "What do we do?"

He's met with silence.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, I am actually asking for a suggestion!" Scott cries.

He knows it's not fair, but everyone looks to Stiles. Scott's even thinking of suggesting that this is one that he takes a pass on, sits out, but he knows Stiles would never go for it. He's looking at the lake like it's a puzzle he's trying to solve and _fuck_.

He can smell the fear. The only reason Stiles would be looking at the lake in _fear_ is if he's about to suggest something really _stupid_. Stiles heart rate doubles, earning him some startled looks from the pack around him. "I've… got an idea." Stiles says, but it sounds like he's not entirely sure that's true itself.

"You don't sound that sure of your idea, Stiles." Scott says, knowing that whatever comes out of Stiles' mouth next, he's going to _hate_.

"That's because I'm not. Which means I'm not going to ask permission either."

Before Scott can figure out what Stiles actually said, Stiles walks up to the edge of the lake and says, "I'm not supernatural!" The creature doesn't move his hand around the kid's throat, but he doesn't let go either. Stiles must take that as a good thing because he pulls something out of his back pocket.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Scott exclaims, but too afraid to rush the lake's edge. Malia takes a step closer and the creature squeezes the little girl, so he pulls her back so it'll relax its grip. It does.

Scott feels anxious and itchy. They're all waiting at the precipice of the lake as if a fight will break out at any second, but they can't do anything about it.

"It'll be okay," Stiles calls across the lake. Scott opens his mouth to respond – why the hell would he try to reassure him because that'll only make his panic worse – but then he realizes he's talking to the little girl. "Can you tell me your name?"

The little girl is sniffling. She's not openly sobbing which is something of a small miracle, but he can sense her fear from such a far distance, it's a little suffocating. She doesn't respond to him, so Stiles tries again. "I just need a name. Because we're going to be friends and I need to know my new friend's name."

"J-Justine."

"Okay," Stiles breathes, taking his flannel off carefully, eyeing the monster. "Okay Justine, thank you for telling me this. My name is Stiles."

That's when Scott realizes that he knows what Stiles is doing. At least, in regards to the little girl. His words are formulaic and warm – just like the Sheriff when he's trying to talk someone down. It's a technique in the police department, mainly for hostage situations.

Then goes his t-shirt. Stiles tosses it aside, revealing his myriad of tattoos. There's more than Scott remembers. Stiles rarely gets this exposed in front of him, some odd whisper of his old insecurities he thinks, but he's certain there are more tattoos than he last remembers. And if he's exposing his entire body, whatever he's planning on doing is probably going to be big.

Stiles' wiry hands reach out to the surface of the water, his fingertips brushing the placid lake. As he does so, the lines and swirls on his back start to glow. Scott hears Kira gasp behind him at the effect and he's having a hard time containing himself. They look like illuminated waves crashing against the shore. It's a weird feeling – being mesmerized by beauty and terror at the same time.

Then, a crackling sound resounds in the area and Scott realizes it's coming from the lake. The top of the waters ices over, swirling until the entire lake is sheeted in a blanket of white. "Okay," Stiles mutters, setting one foot on the ice.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Scott exclaims, rushing forward, but Derek grabs his arm. Scott considers pitching Derek across the field, but doesn't when the creature gets more menacing.

"He doesn't view Stiles as a threat. He views _us_ as a threat," Derek's whispers, his eyes never leaving where Stiles is carefully making his way closer to the creature. "We can rush it if it gets too dangerous, but for now, if we want to get that little girl out alive, we have to trust that Stiles can take care of it. It's a good plan."

"It is _not_ a good plan." Scott says through gritted teeth, but he knows that he's kidding himself. It is a good plan. Well, any plan that endangers one of his friends – let alone, his own brother – is a terrible plan, but considering their options, it's probably their best bet.

So the pack stands helpless, watching as the most physically vulnerable member of the pack makes his way closer to whatever mangled hellion Beacon Hills managed to attract this time.

Stiles steadies himself as his feet slip across the slick ice, but he's close to the creature. "Okay, Justine. You've been so brave. So, so brave."

The creature eyes Stiles curiously, as though he's more intrigued than frightened, holding the girl closer to his chest. "We're almost out of here,"

"I still doesn't think it's a fae or a sprite," Derek says, his voice low. "I recognize the smell, but I have no idea what it is. It's not a fae or sprite. Even Deaton disagreed."

"Does it really matter what it is?" Liam asks, his voice a little shaky. Scott had been working with him to try and help him with the paralyzing fear that goes along with the Bite. "We can kill it and then figure out the semantics."

"It is important," Derek grumbles. "If we're wrong about what it is, it can affect their strengths and weaknesses. I don't think we should've confronted it until we had all the information."

"We didn't have much of a choice seeing as it kidnapped a child." Malia snaps. "We just need to rip his head off."

"You are such a Hale," Scott mutters, earning a scowl from both Hales in his pack.

Derek doesn't seem able to let it go. "But even the Sheriff said that no one called in a missing child. We don't even know who this child _is_."

"Again, why does that matter?" Malia exclaims, her whole body antsy and buzzing. "We just need to make sure that thing doesn't kill her and Stiles and we're just standing here."

"It's important," Derek murmurs, staring at the scene before him. "It's important."

Stiles reaches out, trying to gauge the creature's reaction. It doesn't seem to move, but neither does the child.

That's when he realizes the weeping had stopped.

Scott frowns. Something shifts and he doesn't know what it is. His hair stands on end and he knows the entire pack is holding their breath. Then something comes painfully obvious.

There's only two heartbeats coming from the lake.

"Stiles, get out of there!" Scott shouts, running to the edge of the lake. Derek seems to hear the same thing as he does, because the older man follows him to the edge. "Stiles, it's not real – Stiles _RUN!_"

Stiles looks up from where he is at Scott sprint toward the lake, then back to the creature. Then he realizes there's nothing in his claws. "Oh _shit_," he breathes, scrambling to his feet. "Fucking _glamour_!" He exclaims.

Scott sprints, preparing to run on the ice of the lake, but he's stopped. He tries to press further, but he can't. A shield is up over the lake and Scott slams his hands against it. "What the hell!" he cries, but makes a choking sound when he sees a smattering of black ash around the lake.

Mountain ash follows the edge of the lake, starting from the pocket of Stiles flannel. So _that's_ what he was rummaging with. "Stiles, we can't get in!" Scott bellows, pounding his hand helplessly against the barrier. He tries using his Alpha powers against it, but it's to no avail. He knew Deaton must've taught him some things that would make him impervious to Scott's True Alpha qualities. "Stiles!"

But as Stiles tries to scramble away from the _fucking siren_ (fucking _sirens_ and their fucking _glamour_), it grabs his ankle and pulls him back. Stiles hands swipe against the ice, but he feels it melting underneath his fingertips. His Spark is slipping. The tattoos on his back start to fade and he feels his place in reality, his grounding, tumble beneath him.

"Stiles!" Scott cries, pressing as hard against the mountain ash barrier as he can. Tears start to form in his eyes, but he simply can't move his body forward. All these powers and super strength and he's stopped because of a _mineral_. "Stiles, please, break the line! Stiles!"

But Scott knows he doesn't hear him.

Scott looks up from where he's fruitlessly pressing his entire body weight against mountain ash line to see the siren grab Stiles' ankle.

Then the ice melts and they disappear within the unforgiving water.

_"__No!"_ Scott shouts, slamming his hand against the barrier. "No, Stiles!"

But of course there's no answer. Just still waters.

"Kira, call the Sheriff! Or Melissa! Someone – anyone – just someone human!" Derek commands from behind where Scott is, staring at the lake.

It's weird that it's so calm now. Before, when the ice was melting, the water was crashing around, initializing what felt like the end of something. Now the lake was quiet and empty, like it didn't just swallow his best friend whole.

"No," Scott whimpers, his legs giving out underneath him and suddenly he's on the ground.

His skin feels like it's on fire. Derek always said that losing a pack mate would be like losing a limb and he felt like that with Allison. But now? Now it feels like his entire body's on fire and there's no solace in sight.

Because, logically, he knows no one will get here in time.

Lydia walks closer to him, gently pressing her hand against the barrier. "I was kinda hoping it wouldn't affect me as a banshee." She says quietly, sitting next to Scott as if they weren't waiting for a human to arrive to pull their pack mate out of the water. In her hands is her phone, which has the stopwatch opened. Minutes are passing by. "Someone held their breath for twenty-two minutes." She says softly. "Twenty-two minutes, Scott."

It's fifteen when the Sheriff's car barrels up to the lake, a crazed-looking Sheriff swinging the door open. Much to Scott's surprised, his mother follows suit. "Were you, together?" Scott asks. It's totally inappropriate, but his brain may be short-circuiting at the moment.

The Sheriff runs up to the mountain ash line and swipes his hand across it.

When he does so, the entire lake _explodes_.

Well, sort of.

But it does shower everyone with water, expelling the water from the lake. Blinking water away from his eyes, Scott yelps and rushes into the lake – ignoring that it was entire drained and nearly washed everyone away because _what_ – running until he sees the crumpled form of his best friend. The siren is nowhere to be found (because that would be Life gave them a break and they just don't have that sort of luck), but Scott stops in front of Stiles.

He's still and his lips are blue.

"Stiles!" Scott cries out, tears rolling down his cheeks.

His tattoos flicker until their nothing but black lines, the lively sea now washed away from them. Scott tilts his head back, links his fingers with one another, and then starts pressing. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight," he counts, then rests.

Other people are approaching them, but he barely acknowledges their presence.

His mom waves her hand at Scott because he's shaking and probably not the best person to be performing CPR – but he knows what to do, okay, he really does – and starts pressing forcefully against his sternum. The Sheriff crouches by Stiles' head, running his hands through his hair and whispering things that everyone hears but pretends they don't.

After the longest five minutes of Scott's life, Stiles coughs, spluttering an obscene amount of lake water with him. His eyes open for a mere second before fluttering back shut, but that one second was the only thing Scott needed.

"Let's get him to the hospital," Melissa orders, now in full-on Nurse Mode. "before the hypothermia gets to be a problem. I felt his ribs separate a bit with CPR, but I think he'll be okay. I'll feel better once I've done a thorough exam."

"Me too," the Sheriff gruffly says, wiping his hands under his eyes quickly.

Scott looks back to where the lake once was and shivers.

**XXX**

_"__You know when you're drowning you don't actually inhale until right before you black out. It's called voluntary apnea. It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. Then when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore, it's… it's actually kind of peaceful." _

Stiles wakes up to the sound of beeping and snores, which is nice and awful at the same time. He blinks a few times, wanting to say something, but it feels like someone decided to run sand paper down his throat, so all he manages is a pathetic squeak that would make a manatee jealous.

It does the trick, though.

Scott's eyes snap open and the smile that beams on his face is enough to make Stiles reciprocate. Well, as much as he can, feeling like he just danced with some sharks and the sharks decided he was more bait than a dance partner and what…? Stiles thinks whatever meds he's on may be fucking on his Adderall.

"You're awake," Scott breathes. "Oh my god, you are never allowed to do that again."

Stiles frowns. Everything's a little hazy and he knows he probably did a lot of stupid shit to land in the hospital and have an impromptu sleepover that included his dad, Derek, Kira, Lydia, Malia, and _fuck_, is that _Liam_? Little bastard was worried about him? "Wh'td I do?" He slurs, his eyes feeling a bit heavy.

"What'd you do?" Scott repeats, running his hands through his hair. "You ran across a lake with a siren."

"There w's a kid," Stiles, pieces of it coming back to him. "I h'd sav' 'im."

"You put a mountain ash barrier around the lake so we couldn't get to you!" Scott growls, his eyes flashing. Stiles is surprised that no one woke up at that, but now that he thinks about it, they probably did and are pretending to be asleep like good people. "Why'd you do that, Stiles? Why'd you put that up?"

"Was scared," he responds, unable to look Scott in the eye.

"You were _scared_?" Scott cries. "_Scared?_ So you decided to scare the shit out of everyone else?"

Stiles' head is all mix-y and Scott's yelling at him and he doesn't know how to respond. "I knew I couldn' do all the lake for too lon'. So I 'ad to contain the Spark to a 'mall area. The only way to do it was with mountain ash."

Scott frowns, still angry, but lightening up. "What do you mean?"

Stiles tries to shift up on his elbows, but his entire screams in protest. He vaguely recalls the words 'separated rib cage' which must be hospital speak for 'injury that hurts like a motherfucking bitch.' He squeaks, but finally draws the courage to look at Scott. "You know I don't like water, dude. And I had to keep it frozen. But I didn't want the energy to go out onto the trees or air. So I confined it to the lake. I had to with mountain ash."

Scott sighs, slipping back into the chair next to him. "Never again." He snaps. "Never again unless we have another human present, okay? Never again."

Stiles nods. "Never again."

Stiles looks to the ceiling and he feel s drugs calling his name – why did his dad say so adamantly that drugs were bad because this was the _shit_ – and he mutters, "I let the water in."

He can hear Scott shift in his chair. Stiles shuts his eyes. "I'm sorry, dude. I didn't mean to scare you. It was just so much and everything hurt and for a second I thought…" Stiles sighs. "It's just be easier to let it in. Just for a second. I didn't mean to actually… do it."

"You hate the water." Is the response.

"Yeah, water does trippy things to me, man."

"But you're still here." Scott says firmly at his side. "I think we can count that as a win."

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

It takes about five minutes, but everyone opens their eyes. Stiles only gets two slaps on the back of the head – courtesy of his father and Derek Hale – three hugs, and a lecture on water safety from Lydia Martin.

**A/N: What'd you think? I think I need to do a happier one soon… lol. I was going to do a fluffy one next, but I got this prompt that I really liked. Happier times next…? I just have a lot of feelings.**

**I may continue this siren-thing for another chapter since I let the monster-of-the-week get away. Not sure how, though.**

**Let me know if you have any ideas! And please leave a note if you have the time! Much Love!**


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